It’s getting late, and Mom fell asleep. I put the lasagna in the fridge knowing Josh and Keegan will get to it before I’m ready to pack my lunch, but right now, I don’t care because I’m so happy with how today has gone.
That reminds me, and I pull out my phone.
Maddie:Hey, hope it’s not too late.
Riggs:Not at all. How’s it going?
Maddie:Good news! I made lasagna for my mom, and she ate a ton. She used to hate it.
Riggs:That’s great! I’m so glad. She must have felt a little better afterward.
Maddie:I think she did. I haven’t seen her this happy in a long time.
Riggs:That’s even better. What does your mom do during the day?
Maddie:Not much. Plays solitaire mostly. That and she sleeps a lot.
Riggs:My mom liked solitairetoo, but we got her audiobooks to listen to while she played. It made a big difference.
Maddie:That sounds nice. Maybe I’ll try it.
Riggs:You can use my account. I have like a million books in my library.
I like the offer, but it feels like George and Mary trying to give us free groceries.
Maddie:I’ll think about it.
Riggs:Nothing to think about. It’s not charity. It doesn’t cost me anything, and you have to think of your mother.
I’m taken aback. It’s like he read my mind, and he’s right, Mom’s happiness is worth swallowing my pride.
Maddie:Okay, how does it work?
Riggs:I’ll text you my login. Download the app on her phone, go to the library, and you’ll see all the choices. It’s that easy.
Maddie:Thanks, I really appreciate it.
Riggs:No problem. Have you given any more thought to Vegas?
Maddie:Nope.
Riggs:LOL. Let me know when you’ve made a decision.Until then, hope your mom likes the books as much as our mom did. Take care.
I send him a smiley emoji, because I have to admit, audiobooks are a great idea.
CHAPTER 19
Riggs
“Wish you were here.”
I pour some Scotch on Dad’s grave. He didn’t drink very often, but when he did, Scotch was his poison. Beer was his second choice.
Dad passed away two years ago, and we’ve been meeting here on the Fourth of July to mark his passing ever since. This year, it’s my turn to offer the toast. It makes me chuckle to think about how Dad always took a sip before the toast. Elsie would give him such a hard time about not waiting.
I bring my hand to my mouth and cough to clear my throat. “Dad was old-school. He didn’t smoke, but he enjoyed the occasional cigar. He didn’t like the taste of fish, but he sure liked catching them. He complained when something needed to be fixed, but he was always on the lookout for something broken. He spent two days rebuilding a five-dollar toaster he found at a garage sale. It’s sitting on my kitchen counter. I think of him every time I use it. I’ll never throw it away because it’s the best reminder of who he was, the guy who could fix anything—a lawnmower that wouldn’t start, a scraped knee, a neighbor boy’s hurt feelings when his dad was shipped off to war, a misunderstanding that was destroying a friend’s marriage, a son’s depression after his dog died, a daughter’s self-esteem when every boy was afraid to dance with her at the junior high Spring Fling.” I hold up my glass. Ash and Elsie do the same. “We miss you, Dad. Thanks for always being there for us.”
I pour the rest of the Scotch on his grave while Elsie pours a glass on Mom’s grave. We each have a second glass for ourselves. The three of us face one another, clink our glasses, then down the liquor in a single gulp. After the burn subsides, we set the glasses on the tombstones, then go in for a group hug. I think we all shed a tear.
